


Simpatico

by Lycaste



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Crack, Explicit Sexual Content, Mildly Dubious Consent, One-Sided Attraction, Other, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Pollen, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-24
Updated: 2014-01-24
Packaged: 2018-01-09 21:37:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1151086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lycaste/pseuds/Lycaste
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An accident in the lab leaves Brainstorm and Perceptor in a desperate state. Could it be they have more in common than Perceptor realized? PWP. Shameless robot sex pollen fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Simpatico

**Author's Note:**

> Who’s tired of that clichéd old plot device: sex pollen? Not me! Not me! And hopefully…not you too? (Mechanical sex pollen, in this case).
> 
> Set somewhere early on in MTMTE. Spoiler for _Last Stand of the Wreckers_. Just a passing mention but it's there.

Walking into Brainstorm's lab pained Perceptor. 

Most interactions involving Brainstorm were painful. Approximately seven point four three five out of ten, Perceptor calculated. Yet his empirically driven spark shriveled whenever he entered Brainstorm's workspace. The level of disorganization was incalculable, the safety measures nonexistent.

Perceptor swept his gaze around the room and shuddered. To be fair, he had seen it look worse. At least Brainstorm had moved his piles of half-built guns into a corner. It was still shameful how the other scientist left everything in such a state of disarray, from his instruments to his mysterious jars of green, glowing liquid. Whatever those were.

Despite the mess, the lab appeared to be empty.

Frowning, Perceptor turned to leave. Perhaps Brainstorm was at Swerve's. Or in the engine room doing Primus knows what. So far, working together aboard the _Lost Light_ had proved equally as frustrating as working together on Kimia. Only without the advantage of an Ethics Committee to help keep Brainstorm somewhat in line.

He was halfway out the door when a tiny, static-laced sound rang out. Like a shot from a poorly silenced propex pistol. Or a synthesized cough.

"Brainstorm?" Perceptor inspected his surroundings again, stopping when he noticed a large microscope on a bench. A large, red microscope. Shaped exactly like his alt mode. _Surely that's a coincidence._ Next to it sat two more microscopes, smaller but both sporting the same shade of red. _Why does he have all those?_

The sound rang out again, louder this time. Definitely a cough. 

He stepped into the middle of the room and looked up. "Brainstorm?"

"Oh, Perceptor. I didn't see you there." Brainstorm raised his head from his position, suspended upside down from the ceiling by a pulley and cable system attached to his hips. "What genius solution can I whip up for you today?"

Perceptor fought the urge to slap his palm to his forehead. Brainstorm looked ridiculous, as always. "I'm here to speak with you about the report you submitted to Rodimus regarding the state of the quantum engines. It's riddled with inconsistencies and half-truths."

"Do you see that I'm upside down?"

"Yes."

"Aren't you curious as to why?"

"No. We need to talk about this."

Brainstorm made small, jittery movements with his fingers. The briefcase jangled in the air beneath him. "You're wasting my supremely valuable time with _that?_ Don't you have anything better to do?" He glared at Perceptor. "I stand by that report. There's enough power in this ship to make the next planned jump."

Perceptor shook his head. "At the moment, there is not. Assuming a safety margin of twenty percent-"

"Twenty percent!?!" Brainstorm struggled in his bonds. "We'll never get anywhere at that rate. You're confusing the semantics of protocol with actual productivity."

"And you're confusing theory with fact." Perceptor crossed his arms over his chest and huffed, tired of the same argument that had repeated itself for centuries. Why was Brainstorm always so difficult? "I wish you had consulted with me on this. Confronted by Rodimus, I had no option but to tell the truth. The engines can't reliably make the next planned jump."

Brainstorm fiddled with the catch on his hip. "You pompous aft." The briefcase spun wildly, threatening to hit Perceptor in the face. "Telling on me to Rodimus…that’s just…I can't believe you would…always trying to one up me." He pawed harder at the straps securing his frame.

"Are you stuck?"

"No."

"Seriously. Are you stuck?"

"No. I'm testing my new gyros."

"Seriously?"

Brainstorm grumbled and stopped trying to free himself. "Press that red button next to you."

Perceptor snuck a suspicious glance at the control panel to his right. Button pressing at Brainstorm’s behest was a dangerous activity.

“You want a schematic of the thing?” said Brainstorm. “Need me to explain to you how it works?”

“No.” Perceptor grimaced and pressed the button, annoyed with himself for being goaded so easily.

The straps and locks around the jet’s waist disengaged. In typical Brainstorm fashion, he had no plan for what would happen next. At the sudden lack of support he yelped and went tumbling to the lab table beneath him. His flailing arms sent the briefcase swinging in an arc towards Perceptor.

Perceptor jumped and blocked. It happened so fast; he didn't have time to check his proximity sensors. His back slammed into one of the shelves on the wall. "Agh." He batted out blindly as glassware and guidance system chips rained down on him, knocking a fist-sized black object off the shelf.

"Don't let that fall," shrieked Brainstorm.

The object smashed on the floor before Perceptor could react. Sturdy appearance notwithstanding, it shattered on impact. A cloud of thick, metallic dust exploded into the air.

Perceptor waved his hands uselessly in front of his face. "What the hell?" The particles clogged his intakes and made the sensitive lining behind his optics itch. 

"No, no, no." Brainstorm stumbled through the silver haze and hit the controls for the exhaust fan. The room cleared with a whoosh, leaving him rubbing his optics and cursing. "Slagging Pit. You idiot. Fragging spawn of a-"

A slew of warnings erupted across Perceptor's HUD. Foreign bodies detected. Processor integrity compromised. His core temperature rose alarmingly, sending an uncomfortable prickle crawling across his plating. 

A fluttery feeling knotted in the pit of Perceptor’s spark. He’d just been exposed to a Brainstorm invention. Not good. "Brainstorm." He tried to stand and stumbled, weak servos unable to follow his commands. "What was that?"

“Oh, no.” Brainstorm slumped against the wall and pressed his fingers to his temples. "You're gonna be mad."

Although a known coward, Brainstorm usually didn't show much fear towards his own inventions. The sight of him shivering and upset unnerved Perceptor even further. He wobbled towards the jet and pulled him up by the shoulders. "What have you done?"

"Cerebro-centric bomb," squeaked Brainstorm. "A prototype. Releases thousands of miniature shells. I suspected it was a bit unstable." He tried to squirm out of Perceptor's iron grip. "I didn't think it was in danger of being thrown on the ground. Nice job."

Perceptor's fuel pump sped up, sending terror-tinted energon through his lines. Images of Ironfist flooded his processor. How scared he had seemed near the end. How desperately he had wanted to live after Garrus 9. How Verity had sobbed, openly, on her knees, that fateful morning when Perceptor had entered their ship's medbay to find that Ironfist was gone. "You idiot," he despaired, "you've killed us both."

"No,” Brainstorm said. "It's not like that. It won't kill you. You'll...just wish that it did." He shoved at Perceptor. "Let go of me."

A distressing burn spread through Perceptor’s core, so rapid that he feared his T-cog would melt. Then, in what felt like the most inappropriate physical reaction he'd ever had, his interface system asked for permission to come online.

Mortified, Perceptor denied it. The request came through again. And again. And again until, much to his horror, manual override had no effect. His interface array whirred to life, followed by a rush of arousal behind his spike housing.

Brainstorm stared at him, optics intense, as though he sensed the problem. "It targets your interfacing protocols." His gaze lingered between Perceptor's legs. "Makes them impossible to ignore."

"Why," whispered Perceptor. The ache in his circuits was starting to _hurt_. "Why would you make something like that?"

"Why wouldn't you?" said Brainstorm. His EM field licked out, flaring with a jumble of emotions too fast and tangled to identify. "I didn't...I mean...I wouldn't..." He hung his head. "You might wanna go find Drift. Quick."

 _Drift._ On a normal day, Perceptor was more than cognizant of his ex's beauty. Now the thought of Drift's good looks was physically painful. His cooling fans kicked on, doing nothing to dispel the crackling beneath his panel. Beautiful, alluring Drift. 

His hands still had a punishing grip on Brainstorm's shoulders. Beautiful, alluring Brainstorm. With his lovely teal frame and unique optics and-

Perceptor gasped. _Get ahold of yourself._ His processor spun, suddenly hyper-aware of how close they were. "So then...we need to...just need to disable it. Somehow."

Brainstorm stopped struggling. "There is no disabling it." He nudged his mask into the side of Perceptor's neck and sighed. "It's not a matter of willpower." He brushed his hands over the dials on Perceptor's arms, timid shaking fingers, as though he couldn't believe what he was doing. "Only overloading renders them inactive."

Perceptor's jaw dropped. "Overloading? I am going to kill you."

"Mmpfh." Brainstorm placed his helm on Perceptor’s chest. Stifling warmth poured off his frame. "I know.” His engine rumbled. “You've got a nice spike, though."

Perceptor looked down, shocked to discover he had pressurized without realizing it. His black and red spike jutted obscenely between them. "I..." 

"It hurts," whimpered Brainstorm. "Please..."

Perceptor’s fists clenched and released. He wanted to push Brainstorm away. It felt like the right thing to do. Instead, his hands moved in slow motion, under some lusty programming that wasn’t his own. He pressed their frames closer together, sealing the space between them with blistering metal and steam. "I can't..."

"Please, Perceptor." Brainstorm pawed at him in rough, ineffectual swipes. "Just…gah…" He trailed a hand to Perceptor's hip. "We can sort out the consequences later."

The room started to spin, and Perceptor’s reality contracted into the singular point that was Brainstorm’s luscious presence. The rampant desire spiking through his EM field was intoxicating. Perceptor had never wanted to touch anyone this much. The lack of control was unfamiliar, terrifying. It filled him with panic, forcing him to take some sort of action. 

Perceptor snapped.

He threw Brainstorm onto the nearest lab table and pinned the squealing and scrabbling jet with one hand. His throat was thick, cheek plates burning as he stared at the seeping pool of heat between Brainstorm’s legs. "I'm sorry." He grasped the base of his spike. "I'll try to be gentle." 

"You think I care?" Brainstorm wiggled his hips. "And don't apologize. It's really unsexy. Why do you always have to-ah!"

Perceptor went fast. Sultry fire engulfed him as he sank into Brainstorm’s valve. He drew a hitching intake, spike twitching. It felt so, so scandalous. So lewd and wrong and good. Never had he imagined that having his most rebellious colleague like this would feel so good. 

Clinging to the last ruined pieces of his self-control, Perceptor kept one hand pressed to Brainstorm’s chest, the other hooked into a hip seam. “Are you okay?” He trembled. Another second of this tempting anguish and it wouldn’t matter how Brainstorm felt. “Does-does it hurt?”

“No,” groaned Brainstorm. He met Perceptor’s gaze, optics blazing dark amber. His vocalizer dropped to just above a whisper. “Fuck me, Percy.”

Perceptor took him like a desperate mech, pounding him into the lab table until it creaked. Every frantic thrust shot a fresh burst of pleasure singing through his sensor net. Brainstorm was hot and tight around him, wildly responsive below him. They clutched at each other, sizzling, internal mechanisms working so hard that smoke and condensation gathered underneath their plating.

Warm air vented from Brainstorm’s mask. He wrapped his arms around Perceptor’s neck and cried out, soft little moans in time with the rhythm of their frames. 

The sounds sent a crush of longing straight to Perceptor's spark. He wanted to wring endless whines from that obnoxious masked mouth until Brainstorm was a strutless pile of parts beneath him. He brought his lips to the mask, melding their bodies as close as possible. "This executes emotional closeness subroutines in the brain module, doesn't it?" he murmured.

"Oh yes, yes, it does," cried Brainstorm.

Perceptor moved his hand from Brainstorm’s hip to his knee, lifting his leg higher. He picked up the pace, determined for some sort of release, for the promising avalanche that built hard and magnetic. "How did you…unh…how did you bypass the personality firewalls?"

"Frag, yes, harder,” pleaded Brainstorm. “It doesn’t bypass them. It disables them completely for the duration of the shells’ effect.”

A frightening solution, and admirably creative. Something curled inside Perceptor's chest. An emotion that, if he had to name it in his charged and scattered state, he would call some form of begrudging endearment. He wasn't sure. It wasn't an emotion he experienced often. Never in regards to Brainstorm. "Completely unethical but clever."

At those words, Brainstorm unraveled. He threw back his head and wailed, soaked valve clenching tight around Perceptor. Arcs of electricity danced across his frame. Teal plating shook and shook, rattling right down to his innermost gears. His EM field pulsed in packets of relentless bliss.

It was arresting, to see cocky Brainstorm vulnerable. Reduced to convulsing shambles. Perceptor’s movements grew erratic. He bit his lip. Despite his fierce arousal, it felt like forever as he climbed higher and higher, slowly approaching the brink of a devastating overload. Panting and moaning until finally, _finally,_ he tumbled over the edge.

Release took him hard and fast, bursting through his fuel lines as he rode the swell of merciless satisfaction. His spark throbbed, spike emptying in long spurts. Tears streamed down his face. _Oh Primus, oh yes, oh yes..._

They held each other tight, air around them heavy with ozone and the scent of burnt oil. Every time it seemed they were coming down, one of them would experience a powerful aftershock, kicking off another wave of spark-quaking pleasure that had them both groaning.

It was a dizzying eternity before coherent thought returned.

When it did, Perceptor searched for a sense of relief that didn't come. Things would never, ever be the same between them. Brainstorm would bring up this incident in moments engineered to ensure the maximum amount of humiliation. The gravity of what just transpired blotted out the post-overload glow.

Perceptor cringed. He could cogitate on how to minimize the long-term damage to their working relationship later. In the moment, his programming coalesced into one simple thought: _Perhaps now I can get the hell out of here._

He disentangled them, pulling himself out of Brainstorm in the most perfunctory manner possible. His chest plate tightened at the sight of the thoroughly debauched bot below him. Brainstorm's optics shone bright and wild as he fixed Perceptor with a molten gaze. He shivered, legs still wide apart, a barely visible vibration that caused his wings to rattle against the table. It was, Perceptor assured himself, in no way really, really hot.

A muffled laugh came from behind Brainstorm's mask. "Surprise," he sang, "there was no cerebro-centric bomb. This was all a psychological ruse designed to exploit your natural desire for me."

"Wha-what?" stammered Perceptor.

"Kidding!" Brainstorm waved his arms in front of his chest. The chain of the briefcase clattered next to him. "Just kidding. That was a joke. Not funny. Sorry. You looked so ridiculous holding your spike with that expression on your face. I was trying to lighten the mood.”

"What expression?" 

"That 'I'm super-serious-Perceptor and not impressed by anything' expression."

Perceptor barely made out the insult over the roar of his own cooling fans. His internal temperature was still dangerously high, interface protocols still pinging him for attention. The all-consuming agony in his spike had abated somewhat, or perhaps it was just muted. Overtaken by another powerful surge of _need._ This one located a little lower. Right in his… _oh no_ …

The speed at which desire seized him astonished Perceptor, dropping him to his knees with a whimper. Entire systems crashed and rebooted as seething lust rocked him to the core. His sensory software warned him to make the pain stop. Nothing had ever hurt this much, and he'd been smacked in the face by Overlord.

Something ran down his legs, sticky and wet. Perceptor dearly hoped it wasn't his own lubricant. A silly thought. Of course it was. He couldn't bring himself to look. "This…this isn't over?"

Brainstorm's wings continued to rattle on the table. To his credit, he sounded genuinely apologetic. "What kind of cerebro sex bomb burns out after one interface?"

Perceptor wanted to laugh, to give in to the strange compulsion to find the whole thing absurdly funny. "How much longer?" he said, voice choked.

"I'm not, um, really sure." Brainstorm hoisted himself into a seated position on the edge of the table. He wrung his hands. "A couple more? From each system? Erm, maybe?"

Collapsed under Brainstorm's feet in a puddle of his own fluids, Perceptor did laugh. A disbelieving little chirp of defeat. His hand moved on its own and snuck between his legs, hovering near his aching valve. Perceptor hung his head. He knew. He was going to let Brainstorm spike him. He would beg for it, if it came to that.

Brainstorm regarded Perceptor's reaction, a flicker of hurt evident in his wildly out of control EM field. "Is the thought really _that_ horrible?" He reached out a hand to Perceptor's shoulder, but snatched it away before he made contact. "Look, if you…if you don't want to keep doing this then please, please go. I can't…this is killing me. You're so…" He buried his face in his hands. "Just go find Drift already."

A flurry of emotions tore through Perceptor. He pulled himself up and slammed his hand on the metal table, hard enough to make Brainstorm jump. He pressed into Brainstorm's space until they were close enough to smell each other's polish. Close enough to kiss, if Brainstorm had a mouth under that mask. "Will you stop," Perceptor ground out the words through a cage of metal teeth, "talking about Drift?"

Brainstorm pressed his face to Perceptor's cheek. "You can take me again, if you want. We can just do it that way. That might be enough."

Perceptor nestled his head into Brainstorm's shoulder. "No, I…" The soft mesh pleats of his valve lining quivered. Brainstorm smelled _good._ "Please…"

In the briefest shutter of an optic, Brainstorm reversed their positions. He shoved Perceptor onto the table and clambered on top of him. Panels ground together with a loud clang. Struts threatened to buckle. Both of them would be wearing a variety of different colors in a variety of different places later.

Not that Perceptor cared about the state of his finish. Not with Brainstorm holding optic contact as the jet took hold of his spike and touched it to the rubber ring surrounding Perceptor's valve. "Brainstorm," he said. " _Please…_ " And before he knew it, the two words were spilling out of his mouth like a prayer, an entreaty that he couldn't stop. "Brainstorm..please, please, Brainstorm…"

"You're in luck. _I'm_ a great lover." Brainstorm snapped his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt in one jerky motion. " _Perceptor._ " He thrust once and whimpered. "You feel so good…oh…wanted you like this." He moved his hips in irregular bursts, developing an awkward rhythm.

Perceptor wrapped his legs around Brainstorm's waist, trying to draw him closer, gripping hard at light blue shoulders. He kept up his litany, growing louder and louder as Brainstorm pounded him harder, making him see stars. "Brainstorm, please, yes, harder…Brainstorm… _yes_ …" 

Brainstorm released a stuttering vent. "You are so hot." He pressed himself deep. "How do you even live?"

A mounting charge flowed through Perceptor's low-resistance diodes. It surged through his body as delicious pleasure, both intense and not enough. "Like that…yes…don’t stop." His hands scrambled for better purchase, one landing on a silver wing. He groped and squeezed the tip. "Brainstorm…"

Brainstorm collapsed. He tensed and howled Perceptor's full name, the three syllables dripping with utter, perfect satisfaction.

The feedback from Brainstorm's overload hit Perceptor in a sensual rush; though still not enough to tip him over. He wriggled. _Already? Seriously? I see "Great Lover" is about as accurate as all his self-professed titles._

Brainstorm withered and moaned, then finally stilled. He raised himself up on trembling arms and took in Perceptor's still-frustrated state. "Oh…I…uh…” He stuttered. "I'm sorry."

Perceptor didn't know what to say. The blistering heat in his valve was starting to seep into all his circuits. "It's…it's okay." 

"I usually last longer. Much longer!" He shook his wings a few times, effectively dislodging Perceptor's hand. "The, you know, being worked up, and the cerebro shells, and the you, oh Primus, the you. And…and my wings are really sensitive. I should’ve warned you."

"I wasn't thinking. I've never been with a flier before." Perceptor's response came out strangled, breathless. He _ached_ for more, alarmed that at any moment he’d burst into tears of undignified frustration.

"So I'm your first in some way? Awesome." Brainstorm pulled out. Steadying himself, he stumbled off the table and stood in front of Perceptor's still-prone body. "Don't worry though." He wiggled the fingers of his unchained hand in the air. "These fingers always satisfy, baby." 

Perceptor slammed his legs together. "What are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Brainstorm slid his digits between Perceptor's knees and pried them apart again. "I'm gonna finish you off. Don't act like you don't need it. You're about to burn out half your circuitry, you're running so hot."

Looking away, Perceptor allowed it. He wanted this, _needed_ it. Badly. However difficult it was to accept. Fragging was one thing, putting himself shamelessly on display for Brainstorm's visual dissection was another. 

Brainstorm's smirk was evident behind the mask. "What? You big, tough Wreckers never finger each other?"

"Please," said Perceptor. The corrosive inferno in his lines was making him dizzy. "Don't tease me."

"Oh." Brainstorm's demeanor dropped to something deadly serious. "I won't." He trailed his hand down quivering white plating. Staring at the scene below him, optics rounded and hungry, he gently eased his fingers into scorching rubber and mesh.

Perceptor _screamed_. In that moment, he would have willingly sung Brainstorm's praises to the entire ship. Sequestered away in the lab, he simply continued his garbled recitation of "Brainstorm" and "yes".

Brainstorm curled his fingers. "That's it." He spread Perceptor open further. "Don't be shy." He laid his head on Perceptor's bent knee and watched, inhaling deeply. "Trust me, you have nothing to be shy about."

Sharp shocks rattled Perceptor’s frame every time Brainstorm slid his fingers over stimulation-starved nodes. He thrashed his head and huffed for more, at the mercy of an electric charge that rose. And rose. And rose until he was nothing but a conduit for unchecked desire and almost-there bliss.

Brainstorm seemed enthralled. He crooned soft encouragements. "That's it. You like that? Yeah, you do. Who's making you feel this way?" His spike pressurized again, knocking Perceptor in the leg. "Brainstorm. That's who." He thrust his hand harder and pressed his thumb against one of the hypersensitive little nodes buried under slippery mesh.

And there, hand fucked by Brainstorm on a _Lost Light_ lab table, Perceptor came harder than he ever had in his life. The tension in his body snapped into deep, rolling waves of spark-stopping ecstasy. He sobbed and shuddered through peak after peak of a ferocious overload.

It took him forever to come down, longer to acknowledge the mountain of warnings piling up in his status queue. Dazed, he disregarded them in batches, along with a host of updates about the temperature of his spark chamber. 

Brainstorm was staring, that crazed look he tended to get right before designing something statistically unthinkable and morally dubious. He nuzzled Perceptor's knee. "My sexy red microscope," he murmured.

Something tingled in the back of Perceptor's sex-addled mind. The way Brainstorm touched him seemed like so much more than induced desire. Perceptor felt… _adored_. It was flattering. And a little creepy. Typical Brainstorm. Given the jet's resentful behavior towards him in the past, it didn't make a lot of sense. _Sexy red microscope?_ Or maybe it did. "I thought you hated me?"

"Hate you?” Brainstorm scoffed. “I don't hate you. I'm in lo-looking at you forever. Have been. I have been looking at you forever. Don't let it go to your head, though. I'm still the superior scientist." He ended the statement with easy ‘Brainstorm nonchalance’.

Yet Perceptor had never been this close before, this remarkably intimate. He was starting to suspect that the practiced Brainstorm indifference was just that. Practiced. The subtleties of his body language and the flickers through his field belied someone much more insecure. _How have I never seen that?_

Before Perceptor could ruminate further, a glowing tendril of itchy heat sparked its way through his interface array. He dropped his head back, helm hitting table with a clunk. "This is torture," he groaned.

"I know." Brainstorm eased his fingers free. "Can I touch you everywhere?"

Perceptor nodded his assent, and Brainstorm's hands were on him in an instant. Stroking and tweaking and investigating joints and seams with all the ruthless detail of an enraptured scientist. He knocked on Perceptor's chest. "Your breastplate. It's adamant crystal, isn't it?"

"Y-yes."

"That's exactly what I would have used." Brainstorm crawled up Perceptor's prone body, hovering over him like a predator. "Tell me. Is your scope sensitive?" 

"Very much so."

Brainstorm straddled his waist and reached eager hands to fondle Perceptor's scope. There was something dangerous about him in his curiosity. Something extra exciting. He ran his fingers down hyper-conductive metal with the perfect amount of pressure, drawing imaginary little circles near the lens at the end.

The touch struck a bolt of shameless lust straight to Perceptor's spike. There was a loud hiss, and he was helpless to stop it from pressurizing right between them. Not that he tried.

Brainstorm all but squealed. "Does it always do that?"

A little grin tugged at the side of Perceptor's mouth. "Sometimes."

"Mmmm. And your optic. It accounts for distance, barometric pressure, temperature, and curvature to track a moving target through a fiber optic interface tied directly to your processor, doesn't it?" Brainstorm touched a dirty finger to Perceptor's targeting monocle, leaving a smudge across his vision. "I'll bet that improved your aim by twenty eight percent."

Perceptor squirmed. "It was thirty seven point six five one four five seven percent."

A palpable, full body shudder wracked Brainstorm's frame. "That's awesome. Simple yet elegant. Unquestionably effective. I wish I'd thought of it." He stroked the side of Perceptor's face. "And it looks so fragging good on you."

"Really?" Desire was quickly morphing into torment again. Perceptor sat up, urging Brainstorm into his lap. "I was, ah, actually thinking of removing it. With the war over, perhaps it sends the wrong message." His real reasons were much more complex, but he couldn't command his normally eloquent vocalizer to discuss the psychosocial ramifications of keeping the optic at the moment.

"No!" Brainstorm's vents hitched. "Don't." He grabbed Perceptor's helm. "Never take it off. You were always beautiful, but you made yourself into a living weapon. That's pretty much the hottest thing ever. That is the apex of hot. I'm serious, Perceptor. Never. Take. It. Off."

Dumbfounded, Perceptor whispered, "Okay."

"Symmetry is so over-rated, don't you think?"

"I like symmetry."

"You would." He pulled himself up using Perceptor's shoulders, until he was poised over the tip of the bigger scientist's black and red spike. 

Warm liquid dribbled from Brainstorm's interface array onto his own, and Perceptor thought he would die from sheer want. He gripped Brainstorm's side and guided them together, until he was seated deep inside the other mech. His voice splintered into static. 

Brainstorm keened, a needy, wet, mechanical mess. "That’s so fragging good, Percy. We fit so perfectly together." He emitted a sad little laugh. "But I won't tell him. You think I will but I won't. I'm not that cruel. I swear I won't tell him about this, um, accident."

"Tell whom?"

"Drift. Believe me. I won’t screw up your relationship like that."

Perceptor gripped Brainstorm tighter and sighed. "Drift and I haven't been in a relationship for a while now."

"What?! You…really?" Brainstorm started vibrating again. "How did I not know that?"

"Because you only spy on me professionally?"

"That's not it. I mean-I don't spy on you at all! What happened?"

"Brainstorm, we are in the middle of a very intense, very confusing interface session. Can we please not discuss my recent and painful breakup?"

"Too early? My bad. Sorry." He threw his arms around Perceptor and chuckled. "Heh, idiot."

Perceptor reeled back. "I…how could you…"

"Not you. Him. He's the idiot for dumping you." He squirmed in Perceptor's lap, then slowly started grinding up and down, sending pleasurable fire through overclocked microchips. "You're better off without him," he said. "There are things about Drift that you don't know."

Perceptor wanted to demand that Drift be permanently dropped from conversation, but his head spun too hard from the exquisite pressure of Brainstorm’s slick valve. 

"If I had you, I'd never let you go." There was a distinct click, and Brainstorm's mouth plate retracted to reveal the rest of his face. " _If_ I had you," he added again.

Perceptor's optics reset, his spark felt like it stopped whirling in its chamber. Brainstorm had a face. With a real mouth. During their ages of being colleagues, Perceptor had never seen it. It was…nice. With delicate lips and a pointy nose. Really…normal looking. That was the weirdest part of all.

Then Brainstorm brought their lips together, soft and sweet, and the illusion of stopped time shattered. He kissed with a tender passion, mewling into Perceptor's mouth, creating a rising charge sent them spiraling upwards together, desperately holding each other. 

Perceptor rocked Brainstorm in his lap and relished the smooth, thin metal of rarely seen lips. He kept the pace slow, his mouth unhurried. Drawing out the tension until he felt the first stirrings of a powerful release.

Brainstorm broke the kiss. "Perfect," he said reverently. "You deserve to be with someone who appreciates you." He kissed Perceptor's monocle. "Someone who understands you." 

"Primus, Brainstorm, don't stop…"

Brainstorm licked into Perceptor's open mouth. "Someone who's studied your groundbreaking work on quantum entanglement."

"You feel so….wait, I never published that research."

"Ummmm. I might’ve known a few of your passcodes on Kimia."

Perceptor lifted him, rocking them a little faster. He panted into Brainstorm's chest plate. "What did you think of it?" 

"Brilliant." Brainstorm rained little kisses all over Perceptor's scope. "It was brilliant. It inspired me to create one of my favorite weapons. The Gravity Defiler."

"I noticed your research on that topic."

Brainstorm stilled. "You-you noticed?" He gently lifted Perceptor's chin, forcing them to stare into each other's eyes. Without the mask, his expressions were revealed in all their naked complexity. 

"Oh, I did," groaned Perceptor. It had been hard not to, with the entire Autobot science community in an outrage. "The weapon was atrocious. But your conjectures regarding the multidimensional implications of gravity's ability to bend space-time were fascinating. A very creative conclusion to draw from my original work. In a theoretical, completely untested manner of course."

The grin that spread across Brainstorm's face radiated pure delight. He smiled wider and _squeezed._

Perceptor moaned, soft and broken. "I'm so close."

"See? It's like I told you. You and me-" Brainstorm rested their forehelms together. "Simpatico."


End file.
